Truth and Consequences
by My Vantilene
Summary: Giftfic for Xamag. Karkat's never had an easy life. But, then again, who has? Karkat x Terezi.


Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck. Let the games _begin_.

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_Weird AU. I hope it's not too hard to follow. Sorry, Xamag, I screwed up your request with this multi-chaptered(?) fic._

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"Hey, kid!"

You know the drill when he calls you over after school. You're supposed to run as fast as you can, make it to the park on Lexington Avenue, hide underneath the green, plastic slide and wait until the telltale crunch of leaves alert you he's ran the wrong direction. You wait ten minutes, then run home, hoping he doesn't get there before you do. But he told his brother that you've been avoiding him, and the bruises lining your neck hurt far worse than anything he could give you. Or at least, you hope. The red marks marring your wrists, as well, bind your feet to the pavement, and no matter how loud your instincts scream, the pain and the memory is keeping you at his mercy. Which you dully note he has none of.

"This is outstanding obedience, shitblood, I didn't know you had it in you."

You can practically feel the tremors his steps produce, and a bulky shadow looms over you. His shadow devours yours with ease, even though he's still a bit far from you. But he's getting closer. Your legs shoot out in a desperate stride, your instinctual half finally taking over, but by then it's already too late. He grabs your wrist — man, you wish the scabs there were fully healed — and slams you against the stone wall. Your back erupts in agony, a sprinkled feeling of numbness barely audible above the pain roaring in your ears. His grip hasn't weakened on your wrists that spurt candy red blood from freshened scars, even though your entire arm goes limp. His brow furrows above the cracked onyx shades and perspiration flows from his pores like a sprinkler system set on high. He's enjoying the domination his strength and blood give him in this scenario, but what he really wants is for you to rebel. Not that he'd ever make that easy. It's suppose to challenge you the way Vriska challenges Tavros, except he's not trying to make you stronger, he's just bored. And hates your guts. And watching you squirm is like cheap entertainment, even more entertaining if you ever manage to fight back one of these days.

He winds you back, then sends you slamming into the wall again. He repeats this action a couple times, making sure your face is bleeding hard enough until he traps you in a head lock.

"Say uncle."

You can't really make out what he's saying, much less formulate a reply.

He pins you down on the pavement and sits on your chest. Your rib cage squeaks in protest. Or maybe your mouth does. You're having trouble thinking, but you're pretty sure your rib cage hurts and that you want to protest. Though he's only a few years older than you, he outweighs you by 93 pounds, and that doesn't feel good on your already-too-thin bones.

"Say Uncle Equius."

It's funny, because it's true. He's technically your uncle, but not in the typical, familial sense. He's more like your brother-in-law. Actually, ew, no, that makes it sound like you married your step dad. Maybe brother-in-politics? You swear that's an actual thing. He's your step dad's kid brother, which, yeah, makes him your step uncle. Your family arrangements as a whole give you a migraine.

"Say it." He urges, a menacing grin splayed across his features.

"U-uncle Equius." You somehow, miraculously manage. He stands, dusting his hands off against each other, a gesticulation of finality. If your lungs could support a sigh, you'd do so with tremendous relief. It's normally a lot worse than this. He stalks off, suddenly disinterested. You lay there for a moment before turning on your side, and throwing up down a levy. Though, you can't really blame Equius for that. You probably would've thrown up on your own, regardless of the beating, albeit with a lost less blood mixed in. You lie back down on your side, completely void of energy. You also know the drill for when he's done using you as a punching bag after school. You're supposed to lie there until the sun goes down, head back to the house when it's safe, and hope no one kicks you on their way down the street. You appreciate the good Samaritans who politely avert their eyes and step carefully away from you.

But of course there's always that good Samaritan who's got to be better than the rest. And here she comes now.

"Oh, Nubby, I knew I smelled something de—" Once she spots your limp form, the words die on her tongue. She breaks out in a sprint and comes to your side. She's careful not to let the concern show on her face, but you know on the inside she's freaking out.

"Equius again?" she inquires calmly. Maybe if she had gotten there a little later, you could've replied with a "yes" or a nod of the head, but you just emptied the little to nonexistent food you ate today into the sewer and all your energy is gone. Thankfully, she doesn't need an answer. Blame it on her outstanding detective skills. Not a case around that Terezi Pyrope can't crack.

"I'm going to kill him one of these days." She says with a laugh as she inspects the damage. You honestly can't tell if she's joking or not. She pats around your chest and tells you to take a deep breath. You obey, and she let's out a long, winded sigh. A frown contorts her lips and she suddenly squeezes your shoulder. You can't understand why her frown turns into an outright scowl when all she did was…

Oh, right.

Crap. You forgot the padding in your gym locker.

Stupid, stupid dumb.

"Karkat…" she practically growls.

Even if your tongue wasn't so thick and heavy and your mouth void of saliva, you couldn't think of anything to say to her in defense. And Terezi hardly gets mad. She's normally cool with you being mad 24/7, and she's always so rational, albeit eccentric, and perfect at suppressing anger. Sometimes she gets a bit depressed, but hardly ever mad. And never at you.

"Have you been selling them again?" she asks with a chilling tone, and despite sounding as cool as ice you can glean that her anger has done nothing to subside.

"…it's for my father." You croak weakly. There's no "step" in front of "father" so she knows exactly who you're talking about. That, and your pathetic voice, ebbs her bad mood to some degree. She goes from furious scowling to sympathetic scowling.

"I made those for you." She says as she takes out a roll of adhesive medical tape. Being involved with you, she has to be prepared for anything at all times, "If you don't eat something…"

"You don't think I know the risk?" you yell at her. She's not taken aback by it like she was when she first met you. By now, she's accustomed to your temper and the inflation rate.

"You're a lot bonier today than yesterday…" she says in quiet curiosity as she squeezes your shoulder some more.

"Yeah, so? I don't feel like eating a lot."

"I know, Nubby, I know. But I think that's a drastic change in physique for a mere 24 hours." She sounds suspicious. And when she's suspicious, there's no way she's going to let anything go. You might as well tell her and get it over with.

"Well, I normally have padding on during school." You explain roughly.

"Oh." She doesn't hesitate in unbuttoning your shirt to properly dress the wound. She wrinkles her nose at your skin that appears to be painted on to your bones and the bright red coating.

"Oh."

"It's not that bad, really." You try, but your voice is still weak and you just want to pass out.

She wraps it in gauze and quickly puts your shirt back on, fingers stumbling over the buttons in a hurry. She likes looking at the effects of your anorexia about as much as you do.

"Are you sure your money is getting to him?"

"Why? You think I'm fucking dumb enough to send it to a fake address? I give the money to my grandma, because she's the only one who knows where he's hiding."

"And she still won't tell you?"

"She doesn't tell me anything anymore. Shit, I don't think she even gives him my letters."

"You write letters?"

"My father's been missing for six fucking months. Of course I do."

After a moment, you take her hand in yours and rise to a sitting position.

"Damn. Hey, Terezi. You mind helping me home?"

She assists you to your feet and swings your arm over her shoulder, as if you're an injured soldier and she's an able-bodied comrade. It'd be nice to get lost in that metaphor and pretend, even for a little while, that she's taking you back to base instead of your trailer.

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You spent the whole walk there talking to Terezi, and it does a lot to improve your mood. It should be noted that not all of the things you said were shouted. But when the old, rickety tin can comes into view, your body rejects the inevitable, and you can't stop the shaking.

"If I stay, there's a likely chance he won't hurt you." She offers.

You scoff at the thought.

"If you stay, there's a likely chance he'll hurt both of us."

You both stop and she stares at you contemplatively, weighing her options, surveying the different outcomes. She kisses you on the cheek and strides off. You smile a rare, soft smile before turning to the trailer.

To your great surprise, it's only Grandma and your twin sister at home. She's not really an old grandma, considering the early age your mother gave birth to you at, she couldn't be over forty-nine. The jadeblood stands up once you walk through the door and spreads her arms out wide, receiving. You run and give her a hug, a huge, disbelieving smile splitting your face. You can't remember a time you were ever this happy to see someone — er, to see someone, and not see a certain someone else. Granted, most of your happiness comes from the fact that your step dad's not there. Secretly, you hope he's in the hospital for something or other.

Nepeta is just as surprised as your grandmother to see this display of affection, but their shock barely registers to you. In fact, nothing else matters, just that you have a moment of reprieve. You're so caught up in the moment, you don't hear the roar of an engine silencing, or the slam of a car door, or the opening of the one behind you. It only dawns on you that your luck has run out when a pair of strong arms rip you from your grandmother's embrace.

"What do you think you're doing here?" The Darkleer roars at the Dolorosa. Nepeta runs to your fallen side and you think with bitter humor that all of Terezi's efforts to bandage you up were in vain.

"I'm visiting my grandchildren." She says with unfaltering dignity, even though his loud, booming voice had caused wind to bristle her hair and she should be as terrified as you right now.

"You're not wanted here, lady." He yells again, and even though his words aren't directed in your vicinity, you can still smell the alcohol saturating his breath.

Grandma indicates that she can smell it too by waving a hand in front of her nose,

"Happy Hour ended this early? No wonder I'm not wanted. Neither are the little ones, are they?" her voice is prickling with righteous anger that only increases the more she talks, "My son never exposed these kids to such sinful behavior! He never drank! You know little Nepeta's tried several times to run away and poor Karkat's frightened to come anywhere near here."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That maybe I should take protective custody over them."

"Oh? And why not the saint I've been hearing so much about?"

"He's not in the position to care for anyone."

"Yes, because he abandoned them. I didn't. He's gone. I'm still here. Everyone keeps saying he was a great father, but I don't see any proof. And don't you know anything about marriage? By law, these are my kids. Your son also abandoned his disciple, but I didn't. And I doubt she wants an empty house to come back to!"

"Well, that can only sound so persuasive to a judge."

"You wouldn't."

"With my grandchildren on the line?" she steps closer to him, her breath spraying in his face, "Try me."

He smiles vindictively as he slams her through the window and out into the gravel road. The broken shards of glass fly like glistening, clear fireworks in the sunset, with an almost liquid consistency. The debris chips a bit of your arms as you lift them to block your face. In an instant, you're bolting out the door, but you stop cold in your tracks once you see her.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that your trailer park finally had some grass planted, but it catches the light differently than vegetation would, and it's all the same green, with no depth perception indicated with darker or lighter hues. It's just all jade. And there's way too much, far, far too much than a living person would have outside there body. You brace yourself for the truth that she might be dead.

_AN:_

_I apologize profusely, Xamag, this was both not cute, and not their usual banter. And their relationship wasn't really the epicenter and oh my glob I screwed the pooch on this one, didn't I? I'm so sorry. I know I could do better, and this is so late, but whatever. I just had a week of intense grounding and this was the only idea I could think of. I'd still like to know what you thought of it, though._


End file.
